Collect Your Winnings
by cleverdistraction
Summary: Castle and Beckett up the ante.
1. Chapter 1

Collect Your Winnings

It's almost 2am and the only things standing between Castle and sleep are a deck of cards, a tie-breaking round of poker, and a smug-looking Beckett. The boys bowed out twenty minutes ago, refusing to take part in the final battle of wills unfolding before them. Castle lets out a yawn and Beckett leans over her cards to tease him, giving him an unimpeded view down the front of her shirt.

"If you want to sleep, Castle, you can always fold," she teases, her eyes sparkling with mischief. If she notices where his eyes are trained, she doesn't let on. Instead, she quirks her brow and gives him a sly smile that he can't help but think of as an invitation.

"Oh, no. I don't think so, Detective. I'm not so tired that I can't still beat your pants off," he taunts. His smile turns lecherous as the sudden realization flits across his face, "Especially if you wanted to put that up as a wager…"

"My pants, Castle? Really?" she asks dryly, though the smolder in her eyes betrays her interest.

"Worth a shot, anyway."

She sets her cards down after glancing at them once more and laces her fingers together in thought. "Alright, Castle. I'm all in."

She makes no move to push her stack of chips to the center pile and he has to clear his throat when he sees the expression on her face. It's dangerous. Lethal. Demanding. He hopes he's reading her right-that he understands her wager and isn't going to make a fool of himself.

They've been seeing each other for a few weeks-_15 days, but who's counting?_-and they still haven't managed to-_no, there just hasn't been enough time_. What with the veritable shitstorm of cases they've been assigned over the last week and his latest book going through the final few stages of editing and…_oh god._ he just _really_ wants her to be suggesting what he thinks she's suggesting because tonight is the first night they've had together that hasn't ended in late hours at the precinct, fueling up on caffeine for the drive home or stumbling their way into separate cabs.

And, _of course_, this first free night had to fall on poker night with the boys. But the way she's looking at him now makes him hold on to the hope that the night might not be all lost.

He pretends to consider the suggestion for a moment, staring intently-_too intently?_-at the cards he's holding. His hand is too good pass on a deal like this, and, who is he even kidding: he couldn't stop now even if he wanted to.

_Fuck it,_ he's wide awake now.

"Well, I-umm, what exactly did you have in mind?" He curses himself for stumbling over the words, trying so hard to be nonchalant and smooth, but it's impossible to manage with her looking at him _like that_ from across the table. He wishes he wasn't so utterly disoriented at the thought of finally-_finally_-having sex with her.

"Exactly what it sounds like. Winner takes all-gets _whatever_ they want from the loser."

Her voice has that dark lilt to it that he hasn't heard since she impersonated that Russian hooker-_sorry, "lucky charm"-_nearly three years ago. Her lips are pursed ever so slightly in a way that leaves him aching to lunge across the table right _now_. He studies his hand again, barely holding back a shudder, unable to look at her without being ready to give her anything she wants, cards be damned.

But then his own fantasies of her run wild through his head-her tied to the headboards, her on her knees between his legs, her riding him hard and fast-and it steels his resolve. He won't give in so easily. Not when there are so many glorious scenarios just begging to be explored. Suddenly, he cannot _wait_ until he wins this round.

"All in," he agrees, finally, flipping his cards over. For a moment, disappointment flitters across her face and his chest is about to burst with excitement. Then the light sigh she lets escape past her lips transforms to a broad grin and he knows she's played him. She spreads her cards on the table with a flourish and moves to gather up the few chips in the center of the table to add to her pile.

She saunters out of her chair toward him after a brief moment, a dark, approving hum rumbling through her chest. She brushes her fingers through the tuft of hair at his temple before leaning over to whisper in his ear, "Pay up, Castle."

She hops up onto the table in front of him, her eyes sparkling with delight as she toys with the button holding closed the fabric between her breasts. The button pops free under the slightest twitch of her finger, revealing just enough lace to leave him wanting more. Her hand grazes across the curves of her body before settling at the button on her jeans.

She leans over him, perched precariously close to the edge of the table, and brings his hand up to the button. He brushes the skin just above the band of denim as she hooks her leg over his shoulder and whispers in his ear, "I think you know exactly what I want."

He frees the button on her jeans, slides the zipper down slowly-so slowly that she lets out a gasp at the unexpected pressure of his palm where he's drawing the zipper down, heavy against her and _right_ where she wants it. She raises herself up enough to ease the denim past her hips. He slides her leg from his shoulder and pulls the offending fabric down her long legs until they're in a pool at his feet.

He brushes a finger up the inside of her leg and she lets out a quiet shiver as he reaches the inside of her thigh. He diverts his path at the last second to trace the edge of purple lace that's barely covering her and she's squirming under him to get his fingers closer to where she wants them to be so desperately. He follows the scalloped edge around the lovely slight of her hip until he's gripping at the supple curve of her ass. He palms it roughly, digging his fingers into the flesh until she's arching into him. He could spend forever touching her, if only she'd let him.

His other hand comes up to tangle in her hair, pulling her in for an urgent, searing kiss. His tongue delves into her mouth when she lets out a contented sigh and he reluctantly loosens his grip on her ass to glide his hand up her side. He lingers over her breast before fingering the remaining buttons of her shirt. He's so caught up in the way she responds to him-the way she feels and tastes and sounds when his lips are trailing over her newly exposed skin-that he fumbles to release the clasp of her bra. When the fabric releases, he presses a gentle, fleeting kiss to her scar. He doesn't dare linger-doesn't want _this_ to be lost to the memory of the moment when he almost lost everything.

He's doing glorious, wicked things with his tongue and gentle scrapes of his teeth against her breast when she grasps the back of his head to hold him in place. It feels so good-_so good_-and she hates herself for not finding an excuse to do this earlier.

He pulls her fingers from his hair and pushes her down onto the green felt. He holds her wrists down with one hand and gives her a wolfish grin before kissing a trail down her abdomen. He swirls his tongue around her bellybutton before he reaches the unforgiving boundary of lace separating him from everything he wants. He places a series of open-mouthed kisses to the border until she's struggling halfheartedly against his strong hold on her hands as the tight coil of desire takes ahold.

When he finally lets her go, he uses both hands to drag the last of the thin material from her. He looks at her like he's just been given a gift and his whole body hums with excitement as he lowers himself to her sex, brushing his finger along her opening.

"God, Beckett, you're so wet," he whispers in awe, licking his lips at the sight of her obvious arousal. Without a second thought, he's devouring her, running his tongue from her clit to her opening and back. He pauses to suck on the sensitive spot as she weakly slides her legs over his shoulders. Her heels dig into his back as he continues to concentrate a dizzying symphony of pressure that has her biting her lip to keep quiet.

He looks up at her briefly, eyes hungry and possessive, as his tongue dips between her glistening folds. He's suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to feel her letting go, to feel her falling to pieces for him and him alone.

"Scream for me," he says urgently as he pulls back, an audible retreat from her wetness. He runs his fingers along the length of her, circling her clit with a light pressure that's just _not_ enough. She whimpers under his touch and lowers her own hand to assist. He chuckles lightly, pinning it down at her side as he shakes his head.

"Castle, I swear," she snaps, but they both know the threat in her tone is empty. somewhere in the last twenty minutes, she's lost all of her hard-earned control. she may have won the game, but right now he's calling all the shots and she doesn't hate it as much as she would've expected.

"Tell me what you want," he says as he pumps one finger into her slowly. She feels every inch of it and it only deepens her need. The first few shallow thrusts are teasing, testing her resolve as she squirms to get closer to him.

Then, without warning, he adds a second finger and pushes them both into her deeply. She's clutching the sides of the table to try and keep herself under control, but she cannot contain the moan that escapes her and fills the silence. He pistons his fingers faster inside of her at the sound, curling around the sensitive patch that makes her lips curl into a perfect, round _oh_.

Her legs part further as she adjusts to the quickening pace and the only barely coherent thing she manages to think is: _moremoremore_, but it only translates to another handful of moans falling from her lips. He lowers his tongue to dance along her as his fingers continue to bring her closer to agonizing bliss. He pulls away only to murmur his teasing approval, _"_Use your words, Beckett."

Her head snaps up from its resting place on the tabletop to shoot daggers at him, but he's not intimidated at all. All bark in that look, no bite. Beckett hates being told what to do, but she isn't about to pull away.

He smirks at her as the scowl is wiped from her face at the swift flick of his fingers inside of her. He applies pressure to where she's most sensitive, toying with her until her body is arching off the table and she's repeating herself over and over and over again-loudly, forcefully: _don't stop, don't stop, don't stop._

So, of course, he does. Just as she reaches the edge, just as she's lifting her hips into his hands, just as she's putty beneath him-he pulls back, fingertips barely dipping inside of her wet heat as he strings her along. She whimpers, claws her nails into the felt below her because she's aching for more and she's just so _beyond_ pissed that he didn't let her finish.

In her lust, she scratches a long line down the table top, tearing the felt away to expose the dark wood underneath. He sees it almost immediately, smirking to himself because she's so wrapped up in her frustration-so wrapped up in trying to recapture the high she was _this close_ to-that she hasn't even noticed.

He removes his fingers from her to balance himself over her body, but her legs wrap around his immediately, drawing his weight toward her aching center to make up for the loss. He chuckles darkly in her ear as he surveys the damage to the table.

"Now look what you've done," he says wickedly. He reaches between them to draw down the zipper of his pants, letting her feel the brush of his knuckles against her slit as he does so. She bucks into him in anticipation when she hears the clatter of his belt hitting the floor. She feels his warmth pressing against her, but he doesn't attempt to enter, just teases her with his length rubbing up and down against her until she's whimpering for more.

"No. I won't give you what you _want_," he says, emphasizing his words by dipping his head into her wetness, "until you look at what you just did to this table."

Her eyes are closed in pleasure and she refuses to open them, even as he tilts her head with his fingertips. He laughs, but it comes out too breathless, too awed. She's gorgeous, simpering under him, lost in her own ecstasy. _He_ caused that look on her face and at this very moment, he's not sure that fact will ever feel like reality.

"Don't care," she lets out breathlessly, using her legs to draw him closer to her until he's just inside of her again. She feels triumphant for a moment until he no longer yields to her continued pressure at his back and she realizes that he's only conceding what he already wants to give.

"Please." It's a statement, not a question. She's not used to begging; not used to being _this_ powerless. But she's not going anywhere and the feeling is both terrible and wonderful all at once. She hates him for not giving in, but loves him for pushing her-that's the way it's always been with him. And, frankly, she never _really_ expected sex to be all that different.

"Alright," he concedes after a moment, the look of unadulterated longing on her face more than even he can stand up against. She did win the last round and he does owe her _whatever_ she wants. "I guess your punishment can wait."

She growls what he can just _tell_ is approval and his mind races with scenarios for _next time_. But before he loses himself to the thought of leaving red marks all over her perfect ass, he's pulling himself back to the task at hand-to the gorgeous woman spread open before him, all but pleading for him to enter her.

He pushes in slowly, filling her, stretching her to the point that he has to stop and take a steadying breath. He has to savor this, can't bury himself completely on one stroke, even though it's what he wants _so_ desperately, because, so far, it's almost too much for him and he's not entirely sure he would survive it. In the very least, it would make for an abrupt ending to a pleasure he's just not willing to part with yet. So he goes slowly, feels every muscle inside of her stretch to accommodate him. And _god, it feels _so_ good_.

He picks up the pace after a few blissful minutes, floating seamlessly from overwhelmed and flustered to frenzied and hungry. He rubs her clit-just enough pressure to have her clamping down onto him as their twin '_fuck'_s echo through the room. When she raises to meet his thrusts roughly, he knows she's close. His lips search out her own, biting and bruising and it's _too much_, _too much_, but not enough.

"People are going to ask about this scratch, Beckett," he whispers harshly in her ear. He tries unsuccessfully to calm the excitement surging through him at every arch of her breasts and push of her heels at his lower back. She's ruining him, just like she ruined his table, and he never wants her to stop.

"Everyone is going to see it-see how possessive you are, how much you want this-me, us, everything. This mark means I'm yours. And this-' he says roughly, stopping abruptly as his lips latch onto her neck, descending down her throat as he searches for the perfect spot to leave his own mark. He stops right where her pulse beats out an erratic rhythm under his lips. He nips, sucks, bites, soothes it with his talented mouth.

"Harder," she breathes as she clutches at the back of his head, a solid weight to keep him at her throat as she grinds her hips more forcefully into his.

The command turns the tables in her favor, gives her back her power even as his lips continue to work at the skin on her neck. She knows what he's doing-branding her, just as she did to him. Only the bruise that he's inflicting on her skin will fade, but the scratch down the table never will. So she breathes the word into his ear, hoping the bruise will run that much deeper, will last that much longer. She's his, just as much as he is hers and she doesn't ever want him to doubt that they're in this together, equal in their want and their lust and their love.

She knows he understands when she feels him sink his teeth into her skin more roughly than before, a delicious kind of pain that has her soaring and raising up to meet him. He quickens his pace and his depth inside her and she can't get close enough-can't _ever_ be close enough. She wants to feel the reminder of this in the morning-wants to feel it in the way her legs protest with every step, wants to feel the burn on her back where the fabric of the table is practically rubbing her raw. She's going to ache for him long after they're finished and the physical reminder seems only fitting-incontrovertible proof of this moment designed to keep her weighted down, unable to flee.

His lips withdraw from her neck finally, a faint purple forming already under his ministrations-one he knows will only get larger and more pronounced as the hours pass. She's _his_ and it stirs within him that she's let him claim her like this-encouraged it, even.

"Payback, Beckett," he says as he traces his finger along its ragged edges and smiles at her deviously. She reaches out for his finger and brings it to her lips, sucking it into her mouth. She swirls her tongue around it until he's groaning and it's wet to her satisfaction, then lowers it to her clit. A strangled noise escapes his throat as he works her clit with his dampened finger and she's left keening underneath him.

"Oh god. Oh fuck,' she groans. Her hips buck wildly as he increases the speed of his fingers and his cock. He brings her to the edge, fully and completely, not stopping until she shatters around him. She comes hard around him, uncontrollable as she screams with her release, "fuckfuckfuck."

He leans down to swallow the words tumbling from her lips-crass and beautiful all at once. She's lost too lost in the sensation to respond to the pressure of his lips immediately, but when she finally does, it's the entirety of her response that undoes him. She clamps down on him as she impales herself hard onto his length. Her tongue works its way into his mouth aggressively. Her hands claw desperately at his back. He strokes into her haphazardly a few more times-too overwhelmed to be smooth-before her fluttering walls are just too much to resist and he comes tumbling down on top of her from the force of his own orgasm.

His grip on her hips tightens and releases as his heartbeat thunders loudly in his ears. He rests his head on her chest, pressing light kisses to her sweat-dampened skin. He basks in the feeling-of her, of this, of them-for a few blissful moments as her fingers scrape their way through his hair.

It isn't until he's pushing himself off of her that he sees the familiar white and red tips of his cards peeking out beneath the arm of her jacket, lying in a heap on the floor.

"Beckett!" he gasps, all shock and amusement-so awake and so active that it has her growling in response, eyes closing against the excitement. She's too shaken, too relaxed, too sated to react with anything other than a distracted "mmm?"

He's off her in a flash, plucking up the two cards and glancing at their values before turning them so that she can see. "You cheated!"

Her eyes flick wide open as she looks up at the cards in his hand. Her face is blank as she protests flatly, "Did not."

"Beckett, these were inside your jacket sleeve on the floor. You _so_ cheated."

"They probably just fell from the table," she argues, looking around for further evidence of a mess, but finding the surrounding area spotless. She flicks her wrist so that the chips at her hip crash to the ground. She points innocently to the pile she's just created and says, "Just like those chips."

She knows she's been caught, but she keeps up appearances for as long as he'll let her. He makes a noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a growl and stalks toward her. She looks up at him as he nears, a crafty smile playing at the edges of her lips.

"Oh, you're _so_ going to get it," he says, laughing as she hops off the table, about to take off in a sprint toward his office door. Or anywhere, really, that she can go to regroup and gain the upper hand. But he's either too quick or-she lets him catch her, delight overriding self-preservation because she knows, _knows_, what's next can only be _oh so good_. He grabs her around the waist from behind and the sound of her laughter is infectious as he hauls her back into his chest, her head falling to rest against his shoulder.

He reaches out to pinch a nipple and she gasps in surprise. His fingers ghost along her body, reveling in the contentment that pours from her lips. He lays her back on the table behind him and he leans over her as he pins her hands above her head, deja vu flashing so deliciously through his mind. She shudders beneath him, but makes no effort to escape.

He lets her lie there for a few moments, amusement and happiness rolling off her in waves, before he whispers in her ear, "Ah ah, Beckett, you're not going anywhere. I've yet to collect my winnings."

A/N: First time writing anything of the sort, so feedback is appreciated. This one turned out a lot more sentimental than expected, so I hope it worked and wasn't eye-roll worthy. I have a few ideas for a second part floating around and written in pieces, if there's any interest? Either way, feedback is lovely and appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

They moved to his bedroom after he finished cleaning up the mess of chips and cards she'd flicked across the floor. He'd simply thrown the mess on the tabletop before settling his hands on her hips and marching her toward the door, muttering something gruffly in her ear about administering punishment that had her whole body flushing in response. The words barely registered with her; she'd felt rather than heard them-the way his body tensed up, his hot breath in her ear, his hands positioned possessively on her hips-and it knocked her off course entirely.

She had been fairly certain he was kidding before—expected that he would've let her off the hook, just like he always has-but once they reached his bedside and he pushed her down onto the mattress on all fours, she's positive he has some sort of payback in mind.

The entire situation excites her, surprises her, because this isn't what she expected from him at all. He's always been gentle with her, so attentive and patient, that she has no frame of reference for what he's planning next. She has some idea, of course, but she's almost always the one in control. She's so used to being the one doing the punishing that this change in viewpoint has her heart beating hard against her chest and her body almost shaking in anticipation.

He nudges her into the center of the bed, on her hands and knees in front of him as he climbs up behind her, enjoying the view she's offering. She fists her hands into the sheets as his hands run up and down her body, admiring her, curve after curve. One hand wraps around the hair at the back of her neck and tugs gently as he leans to press his lips to the small of her back. She arches in response and he pulls a little harder until a breathy moan escapes her.

_Fuck, yes,_ this is going to be good.

His hand meets the bare surface of her ass just hard enough to make a crisp 'slap' resound through the room. He doesn't want to hurt her, but he hasn't been able to get this exact image out of his head for the last few hours and, well, she did _cheat_ at their little game. Not that he's exactly upset by it-this just happens to be a perk of catching her in the act.

His hands meet her perfect roundness a few more times, not hard enough to leave a mark, but just enough to leave a faint sting. It's on the third turn that he hears another deep moan come from her lips. She lowers the front of her body onto her forearms and pushes her lower body back toward him, meeting his latest blow. This one hits harder, a combination of her movements and his own. When he pulls his hand away, he sees a faint imprint of the shape of his hand glowing pink on her skin.

"Yes," she breathes and it feels like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. She's getting off on this. It only takes him a moment to recover from the revelation and he brings his open palm down against her flesh just a little harder than before, pulling sounds from her that he certainly hasn't heard before this moment. Sounds deep and passionate, dark and carnal. It stirs low in his stomach, the intensity building and multiplying until he's reacting in kind.

She backs herself into him again, nudging his stilled hand gently as if she can't control herself. He smirks at the movement and puts a little more effort into his next blow, his hand making contact against her other cheek to leave a matching print along its curve. He grabs at the flushed skin until the stinging in his hand slowly wears off, kneading the flesh methodically as he hardens even more.

He leans over to whisper in her ear, his body pressed tightly against hers until her every curve is molded to him. He lifts a hand to palm at her breast roughly, rolling the nipple between his fingers until she's pushing herself back into him, rubbing against him to reinforce his desire.

"This isn't much of a punishment if you're enjoying it," he chides lightly in her ear, chuckling breathlessly.

"It's a thin line," she explains before dropping her voice to a low, dark whisper, "Why? You want to hurt me?"

"Never," he answers immediately, too loudly and too forcefully against the humor in her voice.

"And what if i wanted you to?" she challenges, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

"Beckett," he warns, because he knows that up until a few months ago, he would've done anything she wanted him to-would've allowed them both to go down in flames if she'd asked-but now he won't. Now, there are some lines he just won't cross. Because he _will not_ lose her, will not hurt her willingly. He just won't. And, sometimes, that means he's going to have to tell her no.

"Just checking," she says brightly, a daring smile on her face as she twists around to capture his lips in a quick, smoldering kiss. She looks far too pleased with his answer and before he knows it, he's on his back underneath her. It strikes him like a physical blow how she always holds the cards, even when she doesn't-how even when he denies her, she still somehow finds a way to get exactly what she needs.

She rolls off of him quickly, turns around to face him, and straddles him low across his thighs. Too low, in his opinion. Not quite where he wants her, needs her to be.

"Hey, I thought this was _my_ turn," he complains lightly, but the statement dies on his lips when he feels her hand wrap around his erection. She strokes him once, twice, three times, until he's grasping the sheets at his sides.

'"Oh, it is," she says, her voice low and delicious, smooth like silk. She bends down to hover next to his ear and he lets out an unsteady sigh as his hardness strains against the warm smoothness of her stomach. She lets her tongue sneak out and trace the lobe, pulling it between her teeth as she continues to stroke him, lazy but deliberate in her movements. She presses a fleeting kiss to his mouth, his neck, his collarbone before she pulls away to slither down his body.

He lets out a quiet whine at the loss of her heat, her curves along his too sensitive skin. And when her breasts brush past his tip, he's convinced-_convinced_-she's doing this on purpose: toying with him, playing coy as he lets out little noises of protest at the overstimulation she's causing. She barely conceals her smirk and he _knows_ she's enjoying this.

He finds leverage in the sheets below him, fidgeting against her slow movements until his shoulders collapse against the headboard, back supported by a tangle of pillows. He's propped up somewhere between lying and sitting as she continues her descent. He grasps a wandering hand, tries to pull her back up against him, but she slips away far too easily. He doesn't fight it, just lets his eyes close as she continues her exploration of his skin with her lips and her talented hands.

He can feel her breathing quicken as she comes to a halt, her lips settling just over his hips. She doesn't move until he opens his eyes to look at her. She's nestled into the juncture of his legs, looking up at him through long, dark lashes, lips red and alluring. Her tongue pushes out to wet her lips and he catches the look in her eye with surprise. She looks ravenous, wild, wanton. She presses her warm mouth to the tender spot where his thigh meets his pelvis, tracing curvaceous patterns into the thin skin with the tip of her tongue.

His eyes slam shut as he groans out his approval. She pulls away, stealing a look at his face to ensure he won't know what's coming next. Seeing him overwhelmed, eyes shut, hands clenched, she squeezes her fingers around his upper thighs and licks him from shaft to tip. She swirls her tongue expertly around his head before taking him slowly into her mouth, devouring inch by inch with unhurried relish.

His eyes open as she begins to work him into her mouth and he sucks in a sharp breath at the feeling of her mouth surrounding him. He drops a hand to curl into her hair, swiping the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone as she continues to ease him into her mouth.

Her cheeks hollow out and her tongue increases its rhythmic pressure against him until the hand he has in her hair tightens, clutching at the strands desperately, trying furiously to keep still-keep from thrusting up into her, keep from pulling her down to meet him. He groans loudly and the firm grip he has in her hair her is a warning.

She's halfway there from his reaction alone.

When she pulls back and swirls her tongue around him _just like that_, he's helpless against the way his hips thrust toward her. She takes it, repeats her devilish movement, and hums as she releases him from her mouth. She swipes her tongue around his head once more as she looks up at him.

"You like that?" she asks, quirking her eyebrow proactively. Oh, he _does_ and she knows it. But instead of answering, he just stares at her: his mouth agape, straining hard in her hand, and barely able to think, let alone give a coherent answer.

When she looks up at him, she can see the struggle written so clearly across his face. A seductive smirk plays across her features and she licks her lips, capturing the corner of the lower one between her teeth coyly. She looks so thoroughly like sex personified-hair tousled, lips swollen and full from use, breasts heaving with each erratic breath.

"Use your words, Castle," she taunts lightly, dishing his words back so easily that he's dumbstruck-totally and completely in awe of her as the memory of her so desperate, so needy under him assaults his senses.

_Fuck, get ahold of yourself, Rick. _

But he won't-he can't-because she's all _his_ and he can barely believe that he's this lucky.

"Yes," he breathes out finally, the words gritting out through clenched teeth. "Fuck, Beckett, just like that. I-" but the words won't come out, are seized up before he can finish the thought, when she envelopes him again. Before he can even _blink,_ he's hitting the back of her throat and _oh god, he can't breathe anymore_.

His hand strokes the hair at the back of her neck gently as she brings him to the edge. He pulls her back from him slightly, just enough to keep him on an even keel, but she growls in protest at the retreat. It sends vibrations trembling through him and he yelps as he feels her fingernails claw into the sides of his ass, urging him back toward her. He looks down to gauge her intent, but regrets it immediately because the vision before him almost sends him over the edge.

She's looking up at him from between his legs, eyes dark and wild as her lips stretch around him. She's working him rhythmically and he nearly gets lost watching her take him in over and over. She's warm and wet and willing-and he has to start thinking about baseball or soccer or _anything_ to take his mind off of the way he's sliding deeper into her glorious mouth. If she keeps at him like this, it'll all be over embarrassingly soon.

The hand he has in her hair drops to apply gentle pressure at the back of her neck, looking her in the eye as he does so. She nods her assent curtly as she moves and hums in approval as he slowly sinks the last few inches of himself into her. When he nears the back of her throat, she swallows around him and he slams his eyes shut against the intensity of the feeling stirring within him.

She works him so perfectly that the words tumble from his lips unhindered, his filter destroyed by her tongue, her hollowed cheeks, her throat. He murmurs a string of expletives in a near cry-too close, too overwhelmed, too much.

She pulls back and repeats the motion over and over, every time leaving him breathless and panting. He lets his hand drop from her hair to ease around her shoulder lightly, almost afraid to continue-one electric touch from the edge. His fingers stroke along her skin as his thumb brushes past the hollow of her throat. He can feel the thin, sinewy muscles of her neck contracting and relaxing as she continues to move. He lingers at the spot where he can feel her heart beating just as wild and frantic and passionate as she appears before him.

"I can't-Beckett, please," He can't keep going like this. He's _so_ close and he knows he'll spill into her talented mouth if she doesn't stop right this instant. He isn't afraid to beg, unlike her. He would drop to his knees in front of her immediately, repeatedly, for mercy. He has no pride in front of her.

He pushes at her shoulder weakly, soothing the skin at her collarbone in a calming rhythm until she slows. She pulls away finally, lingering just enough that he isn't positive she's willing to take heed of his request. She's stubborn like that-unyielding, dominating, assertive. _Perfect_.

He tugs on her hand, drawing her back up his body until he's positioned right at her entrance. She leans over him to clutch a steadying hand against the headboard as she uses the other to guide him into her in one smooth, swift motion. Her mouth drops open as she adjusts to him rapidly, eyes fluttering shut.

He pushes forward to capture her breast in his mouth before she starts to move. Her knuckles turn white as he scrapes his teeth across her nipple and his tongue lavishes on the tender nub. His hands slip to her ass, pressing her closer as she raises up and then grinds back down. She rolls her hips into his as she moves, her clit just barely grazing his skin with every pass. The feeling is intoxicating, weakening; and she lets it take her over, drown her completely.

She fumbles inelegantly as she reaches down to capture his lips with her own. When her tongue touches his, it ignites the fire smoldering low within him and he responds with a sharp thrust into her that leaves her moaning into his mouth. She redoubles her efforts, sinking down onto him in a rapid, staccato rhythm that mirrors the beating of his heart. He grasps her hips in his hands and uses his strength to keep her moving at the quickened pace.

She lowers both hands to his chest, digging in to leave fingerprints on his skin as she rides him more purposefully, more forcefully than before. He drifts one hand away from her hips, ghosting it over her clit once, twice, before traveling across the flat plain of her abdomen. His touch is light, contained and teasing, as he flicks past both nipples before settling in just over her left breast. Her fingernails dig in with every subtle movement he makes across her skin, at once showcasing her pleasure while punishing him for the softness of his touch.

She pulls herself from the haze clouding her thought process when she notices his wandering hand has stilled. Her eyes drift down his arm until she finds his palm nestled over her heart. It's a statement she's not even positive he knows he's making and it stuns her. Her movements over him become uncoordinated and awkward in the light of the simple touch. She's close-_so close_-and this just isn't helping her to keep focused.

He finds her staring at his palm, feels her movements grow weak like her legs have stopped working of their own accord. He pushes into her hard on the next stroke, enough to jostle her back from the headspace she's trapped in. Enough for her eyes to slam closed at the feeling and her fingers to trail up his arm delicately. She covers his hand with her own, her fingers lacing their way through his, keeping him there.

He sneaks his other hand down to her center, swirling around her clit until he's eased her slowly toward the edge. He pulls away to cant her body into his _just so _and she clenches around him in surprise as he brushes past a cluster of tender nerves inside her. Just after every touch, he flicks his thumb against her and it isn't long before she's dizzy with it. She wants to scream out, but her vocal cords just won't function. She's at the edge, speechless because of him-because of the way he touches her, because of the way he loves her.

He picks up his speed until she falls into an enthusiastic rhythm. It gets harder and harder to stay in control with every second that passes. He won't be able to hold out for much longer but he won't fall until she does-won't leave her hanging now that she's so close. "Come for me, Beckett-please. I want to see you come for me."

His words are all it takes to push her over the edge this time and she comes around him, a whimpering cry escaping through her lips. She clenches hard and he follows, gripping at her skin until he leaves white marks from his fingertips. She crashes down on top of him, exhausted and unable to hold herself upright any longer as all the energy drains out of her. She lays her head against his chest, their hands still clasped and crushed between them. She lets out a long, shuttering sigh and lets the words escape her, "Love you."

He rests his arm across her naked back, running his fingers up and down her side as his eyes begin to fall shut, weighted down by fatigue. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head, trying to keep a chuckle from escaping. "I love you, too."

It's the first time she's uttered the words, but the meaning isn't anything new. She loves in actions, he loves in words. So the real beauty of the moment isn't that she feels this way-it's that she's _said_ it; she's taken his medium and used it. The beauty is that their love no longer has such boundaries-there no longer is _his_ love or _her_ love. only them, together, sharing it.

The End.

_Feedback would be delightful. This was terribly difficult to write, so I hope I didn't let anyone down! _


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